


Ten Times Alex Kralie Didn't Kill Jay Merrick

by doyouhearthunder



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: (although MH leaves plenty of room to write between the lines of canon), 10 Things, Death, Doomed Relationship, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Non-Canon Relationship, like most MH things this starts out sweet and happy and then rapidly goes to shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doyouhearthunder/pseuds/doyouhearthunder
Summary: ...and one time he did.





	Ten Times Alex Kralie Didn't Kill Jay Merrick

**1.**

You don’t know what to make of Jay Merrick at first. He’s a quiet sort of guy, always sitting by himself in the corner of the computer lab. Head down, nose buried in his notebook. It’s not that he’s inattentive; you’ve seen him obsessively taking notes on every lecture your Intro to Production professor gives. He just doesn’t seem that attentive towards _other people_. He never notices you staring at him. Too oblivious, or maybe just too focused, too wrapped up in his own world.

You, on the other hand, notice everyone. You have to – you’re talent scouting. Movies don’t make themselves, and it’s not like you have a bunch of friends at this school to call upon, so if you want to bring your project to fruition, it’s going to require expanding your social circles.

Brian is on board, because Brian is a good sport and always down to help, and you think you can probably count on your classmate Seth to get behind the camera for you. But what you really need is a production assistant. Someone to make sure everything goes smoothly, to keep track of all the details that you’ll be too busy doing the important job of directing to pay attention to. Someone to label the tapes and wipe the slate and script supervise. You can’t focus on everything at once.

Jay has focus, and he has an eye for detail. One stolen glimpse at his notes had confirmed that much, even if his handwriting was too tiny and scribbly to decipher at a glance. It makes sense to him, clearly, and that’s all you need. You hope he won’t be too shy to say yes. Dude doesn’t seem to have a lot of social skills, but then, neither do you if you’re being honest, outside of the specific realm of socializing that is nerding out about movies. But hey, you and Jay are both film students – there has to be some common ground between you somewhere.

He’s in your Film History class as well, so that’s where you corner him. You usually sit near the front of the downward-sloping auditorium, looking up at the projection screen like you’re in the front row of a movie theater; you’ve always liked to be close to the action. But that day you go straight to the back row where Jay is sitting alone, plop down in the seat next to him, swing your feet lazily up to rest on the back of the chair in front of you, and ask, “So what’d you think of _The Bicycle Thieves_?”

Jay looks up from his notebook, his eyes wide and surprised, like a deer caught in headlights. “Wh-what?”

Jesus. You might have thought it was the first time anyone at this school had ever struck up a conversation with him. Maybe it is. He doesn’t seem like he was expecting this, and for a moment you feel almost guilty about catching him so off-guard.

“The screening last class,” you say, trying to sound friendly and chipper instead of blunt and rude. You’ve been told you sometimes have trouble modulating between those two tones. You don’t always come across right. Part of the reason you’re going into directing and not acting. “You didn’t miss it, did you?”

“No!” Jay says, a little too forcefully, as though offended by the implication that he might have skipped a class. He gulps, looks down and says, a little more quietly, “No, I was there.”

You cross one outstretched leg over the other, idly tapping your shoes together. Jay’s gaze is fixed on them – he’s either spacing out or staring at your mismatched shoelaces in lieu of having to look at your face. “So, what did you think of the film?”

“It was, uh, it was good,” Jay says. His voice seems to pick up confidence the longer he keeps talking. “I thought it was going to be, like, really depressing at first, but De Sica really did a brilliant job of setting a personal story against the backdrop of post-war poverty and suffering in a way that exemplified the context without being overwhelmed by it. I actually thought it was really –” He cuts off abruptly, because you’re staring at him again, and this time he notices. He can’t not. “What?”

You’re thinking that you may have underestimated this guy, and you can’t help but grin as you hold out a hand and say, “I’m Alex Kralie.”

Jay looks at your hand like he’s expecting this to be some kind of prank or something. You just keep it held out and raise your eyebrows at him until he finally takes it and shakes. “I’m, uh, I’m Jay. Jay Merrick.”

“Nice to meet you, Jay Merrick,” you say with a smile. You can be charming, in your own nerdy way, when you want to be. Not charming like Brian, but Brian doesn’t seem to need to try – his charm is natural, effortless. You don’t have quite that kind of ease, but you’ve been watching him, too, taking mental notes.

“So, Jay,” you grin. “Tell me more about _Bicycle Thieves_. How about that cinematography, am I right? Crisp, beautiful black-and-white! They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, you know.”

Jay smiles shyly back. “I, uh, I did know that, actually. I _have_ seen movies made in the last 50 years.”

Was that a joke? You think he just made a joke. And it was almost funny, too. Well holy shit. Teach you not to judge a film by its poster.

Jay frowns, suddenly and inexplicably suspicious. “What are you asking my opinion for, anyways? Are you going to write your final paper on _Bicycle Thieves_ or something?”

You lean away and hold your hands up, palms spread, defensively casual. “No, no, nothing like that. No ulterior motive. We’re just talking.” A bit of a lie, to which you quickly add, “I’m just interested.”

And that part, by this point, isn’t so far from the truth.

So that’s how you and Jay Merrick end up talking about Italian Neorealism until the professor shows up to take attendance. When the lecture begins, Jay’s head goes right back down into his notebook. Only this time, you can feel his eyes occasionally dart over to you and away again. You pretend you don’t notice.

That’s not the day that you ask him to help you with _Marble Hornets_. It’s just the day that you make up your mind that you will.

You don’t realize, of course, until much, much later, that it’s also the day that you ruined Jay’s life.

**  
**

* * *

**2.**

It’s June, and it’s a beautiful day by Alabama standards. School’s out, and so is the sun, but it’s not late enough in the summer yet to be too humid and sticky. In other words, it’s the perfect day to start filming _Marble Hornets_.

You’ve been planning this for a long time, and you’re excited. Finally it’s all coming together. You have your cast and crew assembled – Brian, his friend Tim, Seth, Seth’s girlfriend Sarah, and Jay. Sure, you don’t have much in the way of a budget, and you spent most of what you did have saved up on extra tapes, but nonetheless – it’s time. It’s time, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your energy is infectious as you all march through the park; Brian is whistling a showtune with his hands in his pockets, all casual ease; beside him, Tim shuffles quietly along, watching his feet; behind you, you can hear Seth and Sarah whispering about something, giggling to themselves. Your attention isn’t on any of them, though – it’s on Jay, walking beside you. It hasn’t escaped your notice how he always chooses to walk close to you.

You’ve been out location scouting with Jay on the weekends, at least when you weren’t too busy studying for finals, and you’re really pleased with both your progress on pre-production for the film and Jay’s progress on being comfortable around other human beings. He’s really come out of his shell since you started hanging out with him. Not entirely, of course – being a little nervous and awkward seems to just be written into his DNA – but he can hold a conversation without stammering now, and he’s stopped looking at you like he’s waiting for you to make fun of him.

He looks at you an entirely different way, now, when he doesn’t think you’re paying attention.

You can’t focus on that at the moment, though. You have a job to do.

Right now, Jay is striding quickly by your side with a tripod over his shoulder, a script tucked under his arm, and a bag of spare tapes in his hand. He’s _prepared_ , and maybe a little over-caffeinated – he walks with a pep in his step that you’ve never seen there before. It’s almost like he wants to show you how eager he is to help out.

He’s a bit like a puppy, you think with a smile. Loyal. Cute. Mildly overbearing.

Still, as you get to the shooting location and start setting up, you have to admit you’re happy to have him there. Not many people would so readily jump at the chance to spend their summer tromping around the Alabama woods helping a new friend make a student film. Most people you’ve known would rather be hanging out at the pool or the mall or wherever.

Jay Merrick’s not most people, though. Jay is…something else. Something new.

Jay looks up from the camera he’s loading a tape into and catches your eye. He’s grinning, eyes bright and excited, like this is the happiest he’s ever been.

The flutter in your stomach as you smile back at him has nothing to do with _Marble Hornets_.

* * *

**3.**

It’s late, but it’s summer, so that doesn’t matter. You’re in Jay’s dorm room, sitting on his bed with him, your legs close enough to touch, both of you sharing the weight of your laptop. It’s just the two of you. Jay’s dorm is depressingly tidy, and sparsely decorated compared to yours, which you keep covered in movie posters; one side of the room is completely empty – his roommate’s gone for the summer – and neither Jay nor his belongings take up enough space to make even a tiny dorm room feel really lived-in.

The reason you’re at Jay’s dorm is because he let slip while filming that afternoon that he’s never seen _Fight Club_ , and frankly you’re embarrassed on his behalf. He’s a film student, for Christ’s sake! You simply won’t rest until you’ve filled the gaps in his education.

“Literally all I know about this movie,” Jay says as you wait for the DVD to get to the main menu, “is that Edward Norton plays this guy who’s actually the same guy as the other guy.”

You frown, annoyed both by the inarticulate summary and the fact that he somehow knows the plot twist without even knowing the plot. “He’s an unreliable narrator,” you say, deciding not to play coy, since Jay apparently already knows about it. “He has dissociative identity disorder. But like, it’s not just about that.”

“What’s it about, then?”

“Dude, it’s about, like, stunted masculinity and discontent with modern, materialistic society. It’s deep stuff.”

Jay scrunches up his face in a confused look that’s kind of adorable. “I thought it was about these guys fighting each other.”

“You’ll see! I’m not saying anything else.”

“Why not?”

You suppress a laugh – he looks almost nervous, like he’s worried that he’s irritated you. “Because you’re not supposed to talk about Fight Club, dude! That’s the first rule!”

It takes him a few seconds longer than it should to realize that you’re teasing him. When he gets it, he blushes, shoves your shoulder and mutters, “You suck” under his breath. But neither the insult nor the shove has any real ire to it.

“Just watch the movie,” you offer, pressing play and settling back onto the pillow propped against the wall.

You try to bite your tongue and keep your commentary to yourself as the movie plays, even though you know a bunch of interesting trivia about it. It’s one of your favorites, and you want Jay to experience it uninterrupted. He has an annoying tendency to ask questions about the plot, but they’re always the sort of questions that the film will answer in due time, so you always tell him the same thing: “Just keep watching.”

Since you’ve seen the movie a million times, you’re free to focus on watching Jay watch it. It’s more fun than it should be, watching his reactions to your favorite moments. It’s almost cute how he winces or gasps softly or leans in closer when he’s really into it. Endearing. That’s the word.

About halfway through the movie, you realize that you’re more ‘endeared’ to Jay than you’d previously thought.

You spend the rest of the movie feeling very aware of the leg of your jeans pressed lightly against Jay’s leg; you are trying to decide whether or not to do something a bit daring with your hand.

But you’re waiting for a Hollywood-perfect moment, and it never comes.

You know a lot about movies. But your education in other subjects still has plenty of gaps, and they are yearning to be filled.

* * *

**4.**

“Okay, cut! That was a good take, guys.”

At least, you think it was. You’re pretty sure, but your mind was wandering for a moment there. It’s hard to focus on directing when you can’t stop thinking about Jay.

Your shooting plans for the day were scuttled by an unexpected summer rain shower, so you decided to jump ahead in the script and shoot a scene between Brian and Tim inside Brian’s apartment. It’s a simple, shot-reverse-shot conversation sitting at the kitchen table, but indoor shoots have their own challenges – it’s hard to control the lighting, and your mic keeps picking up the whir of Brian’s noisy-as-fuck refrigerator. You’re trying to stay focused and calm, but you’re getting frustrated that you can’t get everything just the way you want it. “Let’s just get one more take. I want to try something different with the light. It’s too flat on Brian’s face…”

“Come on, Alex,” Brian says with an easy grin, “I look good in any lighting.”

You know you should laugh, because it’s true, but now you’re thinking about how Jay looked in the glow of your laptop watching _Fight Club_ , and you’re annoyed at yourself for not making a move when you had the chance.

Jay’s standing right there, behind the camera, filling in for Seth. (He’d promised Sarah they’d go to the movies this afternoon, even though he knew you wanted to film today.) It’s not helping. That is, Jay’s helping quite a bit, but he’s not doing wonders for your concentration. You wish Tim and Brian weren’t here, so you could get a moment alone with him. You have a plan that you want to put into motion.

As if reading your mind, Tim gets up and mutters, “Gonna take a bathroom break while you figure this out.” He heads down the hall, coughing into his elbow.

That still leaves Brian though. He leans back in his seat, running a hand through his constantly perfect hair. You didn’t even have to style it for the camera or anything; he just always looks good. That’s why you made him the star. Well, that and a lack of other friends to choose from.

You’re pretty sure Brian is only your friend because he’s _everyone’s_ friend. You’re too much of an introverted nerd to hang out with that many handsome theater majors. You only met Brian by accident, because you were paired up for group work in a Spanish class and there was enough overlap between your interest in filmmaking and his interest in acting to spark a conversation. He’s a great guy, but you can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t need you nearly as much as you need him.

Jay feels like someone who needs you, because Jay is exactly the kind of friendless loner that you were throughout most of high school. Which means you know how to make him feel wanted.

If only you could tell him how wanted he really was.

“Jay, come here,” you say as you scrutinize the light on Brian’s face.

Right away Jay’s by your side, like he was just waiting for you to call upon him. “What’s up?”

“How would you improve the lighting here?”

Jay thinks about it, staring at Brian with a cute, scrunched-up look of concentration that you’ve grown both accustomed to and very fond of seeing. It’s his ‘solving a problem’ face. “You need a back light. And a stronger fill light than the overhead light, so it won’t look so flat. How about…Brian, can we borrow the lamp from the living room?”

Brian shrugs. He seems perfectly content to sit there while you try and find ways to make him look even better. “Go for it.”

From the bathroom, you hear Tim coughing like he’s trying to hack up a lung, but you ignore it. He’s always doing that. You found it alarming at first, until you noticed that he also smokes like it’s going out of style. As long as he can keep it together when the camera’s on, the dude can wreck his lungs as much as he wants.

Jay moves the lamp to the kitchen so that it’s off-camera but in front of Brian, turns off the room’s lights, and turns the lamp on. Immediately you can see that the light and shadows on Brian’s face look much more dynamic.

“Hey, nice work,” you tell Jay.

“Hold your applause,” Jay says, though he’s smiling. He retrieves a flashlight from his backpack. “Just in case we lose track of time during an evening shoot in the park again,” he explains when he sees your questioning look.

He really is the best production assistant ever. The guy thinks of everything.

Jay flicks on the flashlight and points it at the back of Brian’s head. You check on the camera, and sure enough, it looks so much better. The backlight against his hair gives him a perfect movie-star glow.

Tim has just emerged from the bathroom, and you’re excited now, so you wave him over. “Okay, Tim, hold the flashlight just like Jay’s doing now. We’re gonna shoot a take with this lighting of Brian reading all his lines, and then we’ll film your half of the conversation.”

You get the shot, and it looks great, thanks to Jay. Later, when you wrap for the day and head home, you walk Jay to his car, because this is the chance you’ve been waiting all day for. It’s not The Moment, but it’s the opening you need to set up the one you’ll need later. “Hey, listen,” you tell him, “you really rocked today. I don’t know how I would have figured out the lighting on that shot without you.”

Jay blushes and looks down, which is exactly what you expected him to do. “I’m just glad I can help, y’know? Earn my keep.”

That figure of speech would make more sense if you were paying him, but you force your overly literal brain to brush past it without comment. “Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Um, nothing,” Jay admits. You see this coming, too; it’s summer, Jay’s not enrolled in any summer classes, and as far as you know, you and the rest of the MH crew constitute the entirety of his friend group. Of course he doesn’t have any other plans tomorrow.

That’s perfectly fine. You can keep him busy.

“Listen,” you say again, “do you want to go out to that park with the gazebo tomorrow? Get some shots in the can?”

Jay visibly perks up at the suggestion. “Yeah, sure!” Then, perhaps embarrassed by how eager he was to be invited, he adds, “Are the others coming too?”

“No need,” you say, as casually as you can. “I just want some B-roll footage. It’s a two-man job.”

To be honest, it’s a one-man job, but you’re inviting Jay anyways. You hope he can figure out what that means.

“Awesome,” Jay says brightly. “What time should I meet you there?”

“10 AM? I want to get it done before it gets too hot.”

“Good thinking,” Jay says. He gives you a little fist-bump as he unlocks the door of his car. “It’s a date, then! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You wave as he turns on the engine and backs the car up, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. _It’s a date_ , he said. Just a careless choice of words, or…?

 _Play it cool, Kralie_ , you tell yourself. But your heart is pounding, and you wish you could just skip ahead to 10 AM tomorrow morning. You’re honestly not sure how you’re going to get to sleep tonight.

 _It’s a date_.

* * *

**5.**

“So, what are we doing out here again?” Jay asks.

It’s going to be a hot day later on, but for now there’s just enough breeze in the air to keep you cool. “Thought we might come out here and get some B-roll for the gazebo scene. That way it’ll go faster when we’re here with the others to shoot the actual scene.”

Jay nods, because as excuses go, it’s a perfectly believable one. Smart. Practical. And totally not where your head is at right now. You’ve got your camera, and you’ve got a perfect backdrop for some great establishing shots, but there’s only one subject you have eyes for at the moment.

You’ve picked a good time, too. It’s a Monday morning, and even though this is a public park, no one’s hanging out at the gazebo except you and Jay. You told him you wanted to come early and beat the heat, but this, too, was a calculated choice.

You go through the motions of setting up and filming some simple shots, but in your head you rehearse, over and over again, what you want to say. Damn it, you’ve never been that good with words. The _Marble Hornets_ script is the only thing you’ve ever written that’s worth a damn, and even with that you could never get the dialogue to quite fit the _cinema verité_ style you were going for. It always felt a little too scripted.

But you’re nothing if not determined. You’re a director – you want your perfect moment, and if it doesn’t happen naturally, you’re going to make one.

So while you and Jay are hunched over the camera on its tripod, replaying a bit of newly captured footage, your faces excitingly close together so you can both see the little screen, you make a decision.

You clear your throat self-consciously and say, “You know, Jay, I really appreciate all your help with the film.”

Jay pulls away (nooo) and looks at you with happiness in his eyes (yes!). “No problem, man. I’ve been having a lot of fun, actually.”

You have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying _“You want to have some more?”_ out loud. Where did _that_ come from? Way too direct. You don’t want to scare him off. “Well, I’m glad to have you around.” You look into Jay’s eyes. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and – and, in fact, I was meaning to ask…”

You stop, suddenly unable to get the words out. Jay is staring at you, which isn’t helping. You take a step toward him, feeling very acutely aware of every lanky inch of your body and its proximity in physical space relative to Jay’s. He’s shorter than you, so you’re looking down at him, and his big, brown eyes staring up at you are making it hard to think.

“What is it?” Jay asks, looking at your tongue-tied, useless self with his brow furrowed in confusion.

You gulp and try to start over. A bead of sweat runs down your back, making you shiver. You feel a little light-headed, and your mouth is dry. “Jay…” you start, and can’t remember what you were going to say next.

“Alex?” he says softly, tentatively, on the breath of a nervous exhalation, as you lean closer and the distance between you oh-so-slowly shrinks.

Screw it. You throw your rehearsed speech into the mental recycling bin like another failed screenplay draft. You’d only have gotten it wrong somehow, anyways. Your life is not the stuff of movies.

It’s just this: You tilt your head and close your eyes and lean down and press your lips against Jay’s. He freezes, and you stop and pull back in concern, already bracing yourself for rejection, anticipating the disgust in his eyes.

But it’s not revulsion that you see on his face – just surprise. You lick your lips gently, and you can taste him on them, but just a hint of him, just enough to want more. So you tilt your head and open your mouth slightly, putting a question in the gesture. Jay looks up at you, and you see the shock in his eyes slowly turn into something different, something hungry. He gives an almost-imperceptible nod, and so you lean down and kiss him again, and this time he leans into it, not away.

You move with him, mouth pressed against his, and your hands find his hips and his arms go around your shoulders, keeping you bent down towards him, and it feels _so fucking good_ just to let go of this weight that you’ve been carrying on your chest. He can carry it with you.

You stagger backward, losing your balance with the intensity of your need. Jay’s back presses against the post of the gazebo; you break off your kiss just long enough to look at each other and laugh with your eyes, and then together you take all the pent-up heat and energy of sweet smiles and summer sweat and you spin it into a kiss and press it into each other like a stamp of affection.

You’re too busy to notice the dark figure in the distance, standing between the trees, and when your head starts to throb, you think it’s only your excited blood rushing to your brain. The rest of you feels too good to care, so you ignore the prickling static in your skull and push through it; your heart is aglow, humming with happiness, because finally, finally, everything in your life is going right.

* * *

**6.**

It’s all gone wrong.

Everything was fine, everything was going so _well_ , and then it all fell apart. You thought you were going crazy, at first, when that _thing_ started following you, until you realized that crazy doesn’t cause headaches and coughing fits. Crazy doesn’t show up on your camera, twisting footage into static.

You remember the feeling of your stomach dropping when you first checked that camera footage and realized that the thing you’d been seeing wasn’t your imagination. Because that meant it was real, and that meant you had no idea what to do.

So you tried to do nothing. For a while, you tried to just live your life, to keep filming your movie and keep spending time with Jay. But you couldn’t sleep, and you couldn’t relax. You began keeping a camera on you at all times, burning through tapes, checking the footage for telltale signs of distortion, like insurance against the unseen.

You couldn’t tell anyone, because they would have thought you were nuts, or pulling a prank or something. You didn’t want them to leave you. You didn’t want Jay to look at you like you were crazy.

You ended up pushing them away anyways, though. The ordeal was making you paranoid and irritable, and before long, making _Marble Hornets_ stopped being fun for anyone. Even Brian was getting annoyed. Jay was the only one who seemed to actually want to stick around, even though you wouldn’t – couldn’t – tell him what was bothering you. He noticed, of course; maybe he even thought it was the stress of hiding your burgeoning relationship that was making you act strangely.

Which gave you the perfect cover to pull away. To put up walls, to distance yourself, to ignore your heart and let all your happiness die on the vine. It hurt you, both of you, but it was a necessary pain. You had no choice.

Because by that point, you had figured out what the thing in the suit wanted you to do. And you really, really didn’t want to kill Jay Merrick.

You had never thought of yourself as someone capable of killing. But that was before you had kidnapped Sarah, taken her to the basement of an abandoned, burnt-out building, and crushed her skull with a rock. That was before you had taken Seth there the next night, under the pretense of searching for his missing girlfriend, and ambushed him, squeezing his throat until he stopped struggling.

That was when you had realized that _anyone_ is capable of killing, if they have a head full of static and a monster to appease. If you don’t think about what you’re doing, killing is just a series of motions to go through.

It wasn’t your fault, though. That’s what you told yourself, the whole time you were killing them: _It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault_. It became your mantra, which became your truth. The thing in the suit was a curse, a virus, an infection. There was only one way to stop it from spreading to your friends. They would never know the horrors you were sparing them from, but if they had, they would have thanked you for your mercy.

Tim and Brian didn’t go so smoothly. Those were your first attempts, and you rushed them. You didn’t stop to make sure the job was finished. That thing got to them, _vanished_ them, before you could put them out of their misery. This is why you made sure to be more thorough with Sarah and Seth.

It all came down to the same thing, though. Everyone was gone. Everyone except for Jay.

And now he was here in your apartment, trying to take all your tapes of _Marble Hornets_ footage, and you couldn’t tell him that your feelings for him were the only thing keeping him safe from you. You’d cancelled production on the film, and the only saving grace was that Jay hadn’t been close friends with any of the others, so he had no reason now to notice that they were gone. He’d find out eventually, but by then, you’d be gone, too. Hopefully the danger would go with you, and he could move on, and forget you, and stay alive.

By this point, you were functionally broken up, although the relationship had only ever been brief and under the table. There had been so much more you wanted to do, so much you’d never gotten the chance to say to him. But now you are moving away, and you can’t explain why, so things are terse and strained between you. You shepherd him out the door, bags of tapes in hand, with a bare minimum of conversation, because you cannot bear to see the hurt in his eyes when you act like he means nothing to you.

Giving him the tapes had not been your idea – you had wanted to burn them – but it made a certain amount of sense. Maybe he would watch them, after you had moved away, and he would understand why you had to leave. Maybe he would understand, then, that none of it had been his fault. The tapes could speak for you, tell your story, say all the things that you couldn’t.

He’s about to get in his car and drive away when you realize that there’s more of your story in those tapes than you want him to know.

You’re out the door in a heartbeat, acting without thinking. Going through the motions. There’s still a camera in your hand, because old habits die harder than people. “Hey, Jay, hold on.”

“What is it?” Jay asks, turning to face you, and then you slam into him, tussling with him, forcing him to the ground.

You are on top of him, the camera fallen forgotten beside you, your hands around his neck and your brain full of a familiar static. His eyes are wide with fear and shock and hurt, and you can’t stand it, you can’t bear to see him look at you like that, so you tighten your grip on his throat, wanting to erase those horrible emotions from his eyes.

He pushes frantically against your chest, weak and scared, so unlike the way he once leaned into your body and pressed his lips against yours.

_It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault._

His futile struggles stop, his body going limp. His eyes have rolled back in his head, and now that he’s not staring at you with that terrible, uncomprehending look, something inside you that is still capable of being appalled by your actions pulls the rest of you back from the edge. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to kill him. All you need are the tapes.

Jay isn’t moving, but he’s still alive, still breathing shallowly. You pick up your camera, stand up and stagger backward. Turning the camera off, you open the trunk of Jay’s car and rummage through the bags of tapes. The ones you’re looking for aren’t labeled, but you find them anyways. You’re not sure how you know which ones they are. You just know. Some instinct greater than yourself is guiding your hands now.

You have just pocketed the tapes when you feel it behind you. You don’t have to look to know it’s there anymore. You can sense it standing over Jay. You tried so hard for so long to protect him, and then you went and screwed it all up.

The throbbing in your head is getting worse, and you know what it wants you to do, so you don’t even look behind you – you just run. Away, aimlessly, into the night. You take every last part of you that’s still your own and you push it into the movement of your legs and you run away from the horror that your life has become.

You can’t run forever, of course. When you return, you find yourself alone. Jay, and his car, are nowhere to be seen.

The only evidence of your sins is resting heavily in the pocket of your jeans.

* * *

**7.**

It is many years later, and you have just broken Tim’s leg with a block of cement.

This is a fact that Jay is very insistent on reminding you of. As if you aren’t aware of what you’ve just done. To be fair, sometimes you aren’t, but this isn’t one of those times. You should have killed Tim right then and there, but then you would have had to kill Jay, too.

You honestly never thought you’d see Jay again, but apparently Jay had other plans. He’s been searching for you, and worse, he’s been putting your old tapes on YouTube. He knows more now about what happened to you in 2006, but nothing about what you did. If he knew the whole truth, he wouldn’t be so stupid as to look for you. He would have been doing everything possible to stay away from you, like he should have done from the start.

But here he is. You’ve decided to stop hiding and bring him into your orbit, where you can control him, and keep him away from the truth. But deep down, you know that the one avoiding the truth is you.

Here is the truth: You’re probably going to have to kill Jay Merrick.

This thought doesn’t gut you the way it once would have. It’s been a long time, and Jay doesn’t mean as much to you anymore. You’ve loved again since Jay, and been reminded once again that a cursed, infected person like you doesn’t get to love. You had thought you were in remission, but then it all came roaring back, filling your head with static and your life with pain. You don’t think you can take much more. It broke your heart, killing Amy.

And then here comes Jay, pointing a camera in your face and ripping out the stitches of your still-healing wounds. And with him came Tim, or what’s left of him, wearing a mask and a vendetta. Maybe it’s their fault that this bullshit has come back into your life. Maybe none of this would be happening now if you had just finished the job that summer like you were _supposed to_.

But you couldn’t, could you? You had the chance – you had Jay’s life in your hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to snuff it out. You didn’t want to kill Jay Merrick.

You still don’t, if only for old time’s sake. You haven’t been a sentimental person for many years, but Jay meant something to you once, back when you were whole and happy. This new, older Jay in front of you has changed, too. He doesn’t look like he’s been whole and happy for a while now, either. You can see yourself in his eyes, and underneath that, somewhere deeper, you see something worth preserving. So you decide to give him a chance. You can always kill him later, if you have to. (You hope you won’t have to.)

You’re still mostly human, though that will change in time. But your soul is covered in fractures and fault lines, and you know that one day you will shatter.

* * *

**8.**

You are sitting in a drainage tunnel in Rosswood Park. Jay has been following you the whole way there, and it has taken every drop of self-control you possess to stop yourself from turning around and confronting him. He finally ran away, after you spotted him peeking his head out from behind a tree, watching you sitting there. He thinks he’s so much better at being sneaky than he really is.

Jay doesn’t trust you anymore, not since your big fight in the parking lot outside your apartment. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows you’ve been lying to him. He knows you’re involved somehow with the thing that’s been following him. He doesn’t yet know to what extent, or what you’ve had to do. You’re afraid that he’ll find out, if he keeps snooping around, and then you’ll have to kill him.

So you sit in this tunnel, and you’re not even sure you can explain why. You were waiting for Jay to confront you, but he never did. So now you’re just waiting.

There’s something special about this place. This park. You’ve figured that out by now. Its trees are a labyrinth. Or maybe a trap. Things go missing here.

It’s the perfect place to get away with murder.

You are outwardly calm as you sit there – almost meditative. You are letting the sounds of the chirping birds and the wind in the trees and the static in your skull wash your thoughts away. You are filled with pent-up, deadly energy, waiting to be unleashed.

Eventually, someone finds you there. Just walks right up and puts his foot in the bear trap that is your existence. You don’t know this man, but you think it’s Jay, at first, which is why you shout, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO FOLLOW ME,” right before you attack him. It’s not your fault. You aren’t thinking clearly.

It doesn’t take clear thought to kill, though. Only animal instinct. Only your hands and a chunk of rock. It’s always the rocks with you, isn’t it? You’ve always been blunt. No subtlety in you, no finesse. No emotion.

After it’s over, The Operator comes, as always, to clean up your mess. (This is the name you’ve given the thing in the suit – you don’t know why you chose this name, only that it feels like the right one for this wrong thing.) All it leaves behind is a bloodstain on the ground, and the slowly gathering realization of what you’ve done – and of _why_ you’ve done it.

It’s not your fault. But it wasn’t his fault, either. The man in the tunnel died today so that Jay wouldn’t have to. At least, not yet.

* * *

**9.**

He knows. Jay knows what you did to Brian, all those years ago. He saw the footage. He _stole the tape_ , the one you’d kept from him, the one you almost killed him once to take back from him before he watched it.

That’s why you’re going to have to kill him now. Jessica, too, although she’s done nothing wrong. Her only sin is associating with Jay. Jay’s only sin is associating with you.

You are going to kill yourself, too, once everyone else is gone. You’ve thought it over and decided that it’s only fair. You have no reason to keep living. You just have to clean up your mess, and then you can finally let it all…end. Death has got to be better than this. You’re ready for some peace.

This is the mindset you’re operating with as you point a gun at Jay and Jessica, everyone shouting over each other. They don’t understand that you’re doing them a favor. You’re helping them find peace. You know all too well that this can never end any other way for them. Why can’t they see that it would be better to be dead than to be like you?

If you were not so busy justifying what you were about to do, you might be able to acknowledge how angry you are. Altruism may have put a gun in your hand, but it’s rage that’s making it shake. Rage at Jay for getting himself killed, for getting Jessica killed, for _making you do this_. Why couldn’t he have just stayed away from you? Why did he have to be so _stupid_? Why did he have to follow you, across years and state lines? Why did he have to love you?

And why did you ever think that you were safe to love? You were probably already contaminated when you shared that first kiss. It’s not your fault that your life was ruined, but it’s sure as hell your fault for ruining Jay’s.

You’re going to make it right.

It’s not doubt or guilt that stops you from adding two more people to your list of casualties: it’s a body tackling you from behind. It’s Tim’s arms grabbing your jacket, pulling you off-balance. If not for that, you would have pulled the trigger. Understand that. You were seconds away from ending it.

All the fault lines of your soul have been torn asunder.

* * *

**10.**

The tunnel again, an ironic inversion of a previous scene. This time it’s you lurking outside, watching from behind a tree, while Jay’s the one setting foot on the scene of your crime. It’s been years since the last time you almost killed him, and he knows by now what you did in that tunnel. That’s why he’s here. Still investigating. Still trying to get himself killed.

He’s not alone, either. Tim is with him. They’ve teamed up, it seems; a partnership against you. And why not? Tim saved Jay’s life, the last time you saw him.

It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself, that makes your stomach twist up in an angry knot as you watch them together. It’s been a lifetime since those summer days you spent stealing kisses from Jay. You _know_ you can’t go back. You know Jay will never be yours. You’ve tried to kill him! It would be perverse to be jealous of someone else for being around him now.

Tim doesn’t even like him. You watched the entries on Jay’s channel, when you could use some public wi-fi at a library or a cafe – Tim actually punched him in the face that one time. He can’t stand Jay. But apparently, he hates you more.

You should just kill Tim here and now and be done with it. But then you’d have to kill Jay, too, and god damn it, you’re not prepared to do that today. An odd thing to say, since years ago you would have, and nothing’s changed since then. Everything’s just gotten worse, and there’s no reason you should have let it go on this long. Your life has been hell for so long that you can barely imagine any other existence, and you are ready to do whatever it takes to end it.

But there is something inside you, however small, that is still human. It is that part of you that makes you pick up your phone and dial Jay’s number. (You still have his number programmed into your contacts, because your phone is ancient, a relic of a simpler time.)

You press the phone to your ear and listen to it ring while you watch Jay, in the tunnel, pulling his own phone out and staring at it. You can’t hear what he and Tim are saying, but after a moment, Jay presses a button and holds the phone in front of his face and you hear his voice in your ear saying, “Hello?”

Your own voice is rough and husky from lack of use, and it sounds foreign to your ears. “Leave. Now.” You hang up the phone. There’s nothing else to say.

You stand there watching Jay and Tim’s reaction and wondering why you did that. If they leave, you’ll just have to find them again some other time. Or they’ll find you. Either way, this won’t end well, and shirking the task now will only delay the inevitable. So why would you warn them away?

But they aren’t leaving. Tim looks like he wants to; he’s trying to turn away and go back the way they came, but Jay seems insistent on pressing onward regardless of your command. Maybe you’ve only made him more curious. He never did know when to call it quits.

And then you feel an old, familiar throbbing in your head, and your blood runs cold, because you know what’s about to happen. The Operator is watching (always, always watching), and now the thing you were supposed to be protecting them from is about to come down on them like a hammer.

This is the price you pay for indecision. This is the pain that your mercy brings.

You see Tim coughing, dropping to his knees, and then you see it appear, silhouetted in the back end of the tunnel, spindly and inhuman. Even from a distance, you feel the static hit your brain like a shockwave.

You don’t wait to see what happens next. You turn and run once again. You’re always running. Years of running have taken their toll on your resolve, made you cowardly and weak. Until that changes, this cycle will just keep repeating. There’s only one way to break the loop.

You resolve to yourself, as you run through the woods, that today’s show of mercy will be the last such mistake you make.

* * *

**+1**

You are staring down the barrel of a gun, and on the other end is Jay Merrick, calling your name with the same tentative, questioning tone he once used when you were about to kiss him.

You don’t notice the parallel. You are too far gone, too numb, to remember. The memories of those days are painful things, things your abused, battered brain has locked away where they can’t hurt you. You could not remember that first kiss if Jay’s life depended on it. And most likely, it wouldn’t have stopped you even if you had.

You have only one more embrace left to offer Jay Merrick. Only one thing to offer anyone.

You pull the trigger and put a bullet in his stomach.

You don’t flinch when you do this. You don’t regret it. It’s not your fault. It’s simply a thing that has to be done. The right thing.

You don’t see Jay die, and this is, perhaps, a mercy. It makes it easier. Jay ducks inside an empty room in the dirty, abandoned hallway and locks the door behind him. The static in your head tells you what happens next, but you break down the door anyways, just to confirm it. You’ve learned your lesson long ago about not making sure.

All that’s left of Jay is a camera and a bloody handprint on the floor. You stare down at this and feel numb. Then you take the camera, and you leave. There is only one person left that you must kill.

(Well. Two people. But you’re not thinking that far ahead right now.)

It is only later, when you’re lying on the floor with your lifeblood leaking out of your neck – Tim’s knife having done your work for you before you were ready (oh god, you’re _not ready_ ) – that the numbness stops and the feeling comes back. It’s only then, with a familiar reaper looming over you one last time, that your convictions turn to dust and you realize your mistakes. It’s only then that you understand that more than one person died when you shot Jay Merrick.

 _It’s all my fault_ , you think, as you lay dying. But regrets can’t save you now. Clarity of thought brings you no comfort, no redemption, no last-minute chance to rewrite the moral of your story. Such things are far beyond your power. The final page of your life’s script was written long ago, and not by you.

You, of all people, should have known better than to expect a perfect Hollywood ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I've never seen Fight Club either.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this small chronicle of Alex Kralie's incredibly tragic life, and that it made you sad. I was indirectly inspired to write this by AO3 user futureboy, so you can thank/blame them for this one!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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